31 December 2023 ~ 7:00p.m. as I type. It’s strange to be sitting here with a ton of gratitude and good cheer while heavy with inertia. Maybe it was all the decorating/package sending/cookie making/letter writing/card addressing, stamping, and mailing after accomplishing 50,000 words written in NaNoWriMo and nearly managing a flash a day on top of that just the month before. I apologize there’s not as much effort as I’d like to put in here present, but as someone wrote, “If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing crappily.” I can’t remember where I heard that line – and I’m sure it was said with more elegance and grace – but it’s been an idea I’ve paired with St. Francis of Assisi’s “Start by doing what is necessary, then what is possible, and suddenly you are doing the impossible,” only to find it led to doing impossibly stupid things, so that is tiring me out, too.
(Off topic: Every time I write a breathless paragraph, I think of Kathy Fish. Maybe that’s how angels get their wings now.)(And really, it wasn’t that off topic. It’s A Wonderful Life has been playing in a loop all month.)(Talk about loopy, my thoughts go in circles sometimes. Do yours?)(Where was I? Oh. Right.)
With overnight company over the holiday, I had the chance to pull furniture out of the library, clean, and rearrange it. I hit upon a new configuration. That lasted a day or two before the shortcomings of orientating the mat one way and the chair in another reemerged. I switched it all back the way I had it this afternoon and noticed I should touch up the paint on the walls.
Pedestrian and predictable, isn’t it? Ruts…yet I dare say I feel a hint of hope about the upcoming new year. Maybe it’s the scent of a business idea or a political run. I don’t know what will happen next and neither do you, so in the meantime let me once again say thank you to the amazing readers and editors at these places who were wonderful enough to enjoy my work enough to share it:
I’m grateful to a long list of IRL people who made the year amazing, and I hope you’ll forgive my not naming your name and linking your page but I want to finish a book (reading) before midnight if I can, and chances are, you know who you are, including the awesome ones behind this:
I know, I probably owe you a letter/critique response/present that didn’t get packed, but it’ll have to wait. The gorilla on the bookcase is ready for a rockin’ eve and I’m off to finish reading a paltry tenth book for 2023. See you in the new year if we’re all lucky that way. Thank you for your love, your support, your kind words and likes if you gave them. Thank you for existing. Thank you stopping by and for the read.
When do you pull the plug? How many no’s can you take? How many animals and their disasters does it take to break a fragile person? These, and other mysteries, were being pondered here as I wrote on a Friday. The aversion therapy/consequences of favorite blankie taken away were not a success. The dog didn’t learn the lesson and got in the creek again. I could not stand the smell and I gave her a bath. By myself. In the bathtub I had cleaned the day before.
While I had the bathroom door shut, the cats chased each other and knocked an entire 32 oz tumbler of chilled water on my chair – and the shawl I was wearing and took off to wash the dog. I crated one cat, toweled up some of the water, told the dog it’d be best if she went into her cage – and she did. With two of the three pets locked up, I left. I walked, I pulled weeds and cried and tried to suck it up but ended up saying, Jesus Christ Good Lord and if you’re a Savior, please, can that be enough for today at least? I’m already weary, I’m already tired. I’m grappling with things my mom said to me that wouldn’t have come up if I hadn’t spoken with my stepmother recently.
Eventually, I calmed down. I extended the walk to the road and picked some milkweed pods a little early, but their shrinking appearance means it’s seeded up inside. I set those on a shelf, walked the garden, picked some tomatoes, assured myself it was ok, things were all sorts of wonk this year with those earlier fumes from Canada.
Inside, I uncaged the brats. I used my hair dryer to help dry the chair. I went outside to retrieve the drenched cushion I threw at some point and by the time – seconds – that took, the dog had gotten a drink of water, came to the chair and wiped its mouth twice, so two more deep wet spots were added to the ocean of wet before I can sit there again.
All of this occurred before I could start the one thing I was going to do which was write a “fan girl” blog post. Now, it’s Saturday evening and I’m editing my rendition of a woman at the end of her rope thinking about her mother.
It’s just that I am trying so damn hard already to keep all these plates that are mine spinning and then there’s another nine plates and I can stop two safely only to find three more popped up – no make that four. Did I mention I was already tired? When I’m not writing, the weight of my thoughts grows until I’m pregnant with a book – sometimes unwanted, lately the too-sickly-to survive kind, but like a real child, crossing my legs won’t work to stop its birth.
I had started Friday by reading Melissa Llanes Brownlee’s post about social anxiety. I was going to write a companion paragraph response about how being alone with one’s self is essential – but that was pre dog bath. She writes of how she’d come to recognize her previous social self was a front. Me, too, I wanted to say, but the opposite. I learned early on how I was supposed to act which was quiet, pretty, unobtrusive – be not me. It maddened me how my mother made light of everything, joked with everyone outside our home, but inside she was often dark. Now my social mask resembles hers and it unnerves me.
I’m on Bluesky now, though urged to whats app, which sounds too risqué somehow. Bluesky feels supportive, my Bestie is there now, plus, I watched a literary zine about crabs get born there so what’s not to love about that kind of social site where writers gather?
I’d like to give a shout out to Laurie Marshall, Hillary Leftwich, Margaret Elysia Garcia and Roberto Carlos Garcia. The second installment of Essentially Poetic Reading Series, a FlowerSong Press program for community building through poetry was a great event. I saw Laurie’s post on FB and wanted to support her – also Hillary, she and I have been soc friends/mutual follower forever it seems. They were fantastic, then I fell in love with the sharpness of Margaret’s poetry and the beauty in Robert’s. He said something about how the writing community is a small world, that we’re all in it. Thank god for that. It’s the writing community that holds me to earth.
Cheryl Pappas had a post about a workshop in January. I was lucky enough to land a spot so now I have something to look forward to in the darkest winter. It’s text based, too, which is a bonus.
Many thanks to star Kim Chinquee for her commitment to write a flash-a-day starting in October. I’m joining her in the challenge. One thing about her room is how 5 words can appear in radically different ways in other writer’s pieces. Cigars are not always cigars, sometimes they are cigarillos.
Nicole Hebdon is the new literary director in town and Melissa Goode has a book coming out soon. The richness continues with the prolific MaryJean Zajac restarting the Hamburg Writer’s group and Matt Boyle invited me to a participate in a play workshop. I missed the Comfort Zone’s latest monthly read-in, but hope to get back to it. Oh, there was a workshop with Ben Brindise and Jared J.B. Stone. Thanks guys! I hope to submit to Variety Pack soon. And I think it was through them that (don’t ask the click sequence) that I found The Failing Writers Podcast which led to my writing a complete flash – the first in I don’t know how long.
Without things like these – bright spots along an unsure way – I don’t know where I’d be, so please support other artists when you can. Spread their word; add your own.
I guess that’s more than enough for now. Thank you for stopping by, for the read, and to the texter who tried to help earlier. Cheers!
What do you do when your goals conflict? You’ve asked yourself that before, haven’t you? As an activist, artist, acrobat, airplane designer, or by whatever term you use to describe yourself. (Human being the all-encompassing reality, but a) how generic and b) I shan’t digress…)
My 1st world, white woman problem is that I told myself and others that my goal this year was to have 25 submissions out at all times. As of the most recent, gorgeous, informative Sunday morning, I was down to seventeen. Twenty if I count the In-Progress or Received entries on Submittable, one of which will soon turn 7 years old. It’s getting a cake this year. I’ve already brought unicorn ear and horn birthday candles and a tub of chocolate frosting for the big day.
So, I have failed with that goal before the month is out. Part of me knows I can get right on that; sending out roughly ten submissions is not exactly easy, but it is doable. I scratch my ear and reason that if I averaged submissions like banks averaged daily balances, I’m probably still at 25 a day, but my calculator doesn’t know how to do that kind of math.
Inspired by Rory of Gilmore Girls which I’m binge watching again, I made a list. A mental one. (I wanted to go with “I went mental …on a list” but it isn’t that funny, I mean, it’s so unfunny, I’m explaining the idea of the unfunny joke I didn’t even tell – it’s that bad. It reminds me of the little skit Paris Geller the guy she ended up marrying did when they switched editorships.) (I’m not that far in the series yet, but it’s close.)
It wasn’t a list either, more an assessment of desires and priorities. Thoughtful reflection, long walks in the woods, meaningful deliberation. Psyche! I watched some TV and realized it didn’t matter if I did or did not have (or keep) 25 things out. If all my ready pieces were accepted at once then I’d be in a pickle, wouldn’t I? Yes, I do know that is called rationalization and I mixed it with a little wishful thinking, but you know what? I have had two acceptances this year already and I hope you’re half as excited as I am!
The wonderful, gracious, amazing Laura Black accepted one of my pieces forFictive Dream’s Flash Fiction February! It will go live on Saturday 4 February 2023 so check it out – as well as the rest of the month’s posts – some of the most interesting things I read all year are in this series. Be sure to especially check out Nina Fosati’s piece which comes out on the 24th!
On top of that, the amazing, gracious, wonderful Tara Campbell and Michael B. Tager of Mason Jar Press have also accepted a piece of mine. The original story was written back in ancient times and was titled “Two Wrens for a Farthing,” then “What Isn’t Silk” – which I kept when I sent it out recently. I reworked that thing laboriously, had the fantastic Nina Fosati look it over for nits, retitled it and sent it the first day of the submission window for The Jarnal. I am seriously thrilled it was accepted – and the suggested edits were minimal. (Such relief and happiness!) Now, secretly, I jump up and down every so often when I remember I’m going to be in this print anthology! I still can’t believe it. Occasionally, I squeal. It scares one cat, concerns the other. The Jarnal III : Transitions, edited by Tara Campbell with managing editor Michael B. Tager will be out in May.
So, I’ve got that going for me, holding up that rationalization, which led to another where I downgraded the goal into an aspiration; I do want to get back to it, and will, but right now, well… I’m working on a novel.
Do you know how loathe I am to speak such a thing – even if it’s only in my head, or now, on a screen? Lucy. Charlie Brown. Football. Here I go again, and I’m not sure I want to, but – knock on wood – so far it seems okay and therefore I’m full of doubt. What ifs cling to every dust mote in my undusted house. Breakfast dishes leer. If I clean the house my anxiety will go away, but perhaps that’s where a lot of stories go, dumped out in mop water, flushed down a tidy bowl.
In 22 days, I’ve written 26,000 words. Three betas test drove the first 20 pages and said, “Keep going.” (I went to that file to count days and it took all my strength to not to open it anew.) So, like Rory to Yale, I’m going somewhere I was not headed, though I was headed there all along.
Ever get to the point of wondering how many more bouts to go? How many times have I freaked and feared a creek after a rainstorm? How many nights did I go to bed with heavier fears as a child? It’s a grey day and the goldenrod shawl with white daisies over my shoulders barely puts a cheerful dent in the grey shirt I’m wearing. It is a glum-dreary Wednesday and though I put in 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo to officially “win,” it is not a book, and the end of this dedicated writing marathon is hitting especially hard. Does anything ever get easier?
A magic eight-ball somewhere answers, “Check again later.”
Tomorrow officially begins the old holiday scrimmage to do a million things in 24 days and hope I don’t forget to offer holiday cheer to someone. Fun! What will help, what has been helping, is reading the tenets, thoughts, and truisms I’ve written out on a page I see every day. Two of the most helpful have been, “Do what is necessary, then what is possible, and soon you will be doing the impossible,” and “If being mean to yourself worked, you’d be thin and rich. Try loving yourself instead.” The first one is especially helpful in clumps and spirals of self-doubt when I’m faced with an overlong list, and in December, there are many. Triaging my needs over my wants ends up saving time, too.
For Thanksgiving, I realized I didn’t “need” to make pie crust when I had premade in the freezer. I didn’t “need” to set a table properly, but I wanted to and it all worked out to look like this.
And talk about gratitude this year! I want to cry from the beauty of it all. Nina Fosati, Gloria Berlinghoff, Susan Tepper, Natalie Condor-Smith, Joni Kalinowski – all of you have touched me deeply with your kindness this month. I’m inept in expressing the gratefulness I feel for those kind words and gestures recently. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
And thank you for stopping by and for the read! I’m off to write the holiday letter, address envelopes, and make those cookies. Maybe I’ll even submit some work, too. Take care of you!
I’ve decided to find it hilarious that I must have thought out 5 different blog posts this month – with interesting titles – but don’t remember one as I start this post, mid-summer afternoon on the last day of July.
Wood has been an interesting adventure this year. Normally, the last of the wood is being put up in September, just when we need to rearrange the house and stack a partial wall of wood near the stove. Instead, the woodshed is as full of wood as we usually have for a season and no end in sight to the pile. I am grateful for the dilemma.
I’m also incredibly grateful for the amazing generosity of fantastic friends. C and Nina Fosati dropped of a stove and this is the part that goes on top.
Isn’t it fancy? I’m a sanding fool, dancing between restoration and good enough. We’ll be painting it in a manner pleasing to the eye and the environment of the patio upon which it will stand. I’m excited and it’s a boring chore with a vast reward, so I really do find it a cheery endeavor.
Part of my quest to live in a better world involves more color. I painted the awful blue chair – loot a thief left behind – to something less ugly.
This is my first Thistle design and in person, it does not look this boring. (I was working with flaws in the wood to tell a tale of how I see plants not coping in the conditions they once thrived in.)
Work on the back of the house stalled as paint had to be hunted down and then someone sold one of the four we ordered so hopefully it will be enough.
Omg! The lack of intelligence like that in customer service has recently been wild. I’m especially singling out the “new” girl at Citizens Bank in the Springville Tops. Ffs, I was paying a little extra on two credit cards. She asked how I wanted my change. I was like what? She only applied the amount due to the account, not the amount I wrote on the slip I was playing with. I asked why she’d changed the amount and she snapped back that she had not changed it. She started over, finally got it right. As I was leaving, I said, “You did change the amount. At least own what you did.” I mean seriously, it was a mistake, but to be so snitty about it? Maybe she needs to explore a less public vocation. Tax preparer, maybe? Perhaps a mortician?
The computer problems I’m having are deflating my gusto toward the written word – reading, writing, editing. As with the wood, I will remind myself that I don’t need to fix everything all at once, just take one breathe at a time. I snagged this guy to help remind me.
Thank you for stopping by and for the read. I hope your home and world are stable. The weather I’ve heard about/seen clips of from where friends and family live overwhelms me. I am thinking about you and hoping to hear you’re safe. Sending love and comfort to those reading who need it. Take care of you!
Well this month went fast. Until 6:45pm, it didn’t register that today was the last day of February. Speaking of which, if for any reason you are not reading Fictive Dream, you should. I am honored that Laura Black chose to include an experimental story of mine in Flash Fiction February alongside other fabulous pieces by Nina Fosati, Len Kuntz, Meg Tuite,Jude Higgins, Rosie Garland— the whole month is stellar. Please enjoy them all and the accompanying artwork by Claudia McGill. I thought her piece paired perfectly with mine.
I finished the bird story and resurrected an old one. Most of it was written 10 years ago, but there was no ending. I thought about it, reread it, even swapped it with another author for insight (Fun fact – that author was Tommy Dean whose workshop inspired “All the Love You Cannot See Told in Three Parts.”) When On The Premises announced contest #39, I went back to it again, cut the first two paragraphs, rewrote the beginning, and the ending finally arrived. We’ll see how it does, but I’m happy with the outcome.
Last week I virtually attended Literary Cleveland‘s Flash Fiction Festival. It was a lot of fun, well organized, and it generated new work. Such gratitude to Executive Director Matt Weinkam, instructors Kathy Fish, Vanessa Chan, Lindsay Hunter, Desiree Cooper, editors Tara Isabel Zambrano, Amy Stuber, Scott Garson, Aaron Burch and all the fabulous people who were also attendees! I plan to spend Lent with those drafts and revisiting some other work. I bought bins to organize and reduce. I’m thinking about pulling together a chapbook or two.Today, I sent three submissions. I won’t say I’m feeling upbeat because that might jinx it, but I’m setting goals.
The sun is shining brightly on a 19 degree Fahrenheit afternoon. Thick snow covers the ground. This “warmer” weather compresses it while it grows dirty with debris. Woodpeckers make a terrible mess. They’ve been around, same with the cardinals. I’ve already seen buds on some trees.
It’s much warmer inside, of course, where I am writing. I recovered from the trip in most respects, but I did enjoy a lot of lovely food in Massachusetts. I only have myself to blame for those extra exercise workouts I’m doing, but I’m nearly back to where I’d been in December so yeah! A little less self-loathing going on always helps, doesn’t it?
As a matter of preference or perceived talent lying elsewhere, I don’t write many short stories. There was a call for contest. I had a few sentences about a bird that I had abandoned, possibly because it was refusing to be a flash and I didn’t think it had novel potential. I pulled up the story start after getting home and it felt weirdly like a trance. I was “in” the story but I kept getting in my own way. I wrote so much more than what was required. I refuse to look back at those extra thousands of words because I don’t want to find a novel. I’m not that in to the bird. But it’s done, Nina Fosati graciously reviewed it and gave me her top line comments – and this is unheard of – I let the story sit for 5 days before returning to correct the flagrant mistakes. Last night I made Kindle read it to me twice. It might be ready to fly soon.
This month has been incredible with art, artists, and friends among them. The talented Gina Detwiler was back in town and we were able to return to one of our writing haunts to catch up. It was good to sit upstairs in Spot Coffee again. There was an unexpected letter. I watched Apex’s Snap Judgement #3 and gained some insight on what those editors were looking for in their slush. The lovely Nina Fosati let me visit for friendship, love, and hope. I and SO many other people in the writing community took a Kathy Fish “Lessons from the Sandbox”class.
On Friday, I was able to take a “Finding Your Writing Groove” class with Jerry Gordon. I’m pondering a lot of things in my life right now, not necessarily from the class, but it pinpointed several things I needed to hear at the right time and in the right order to “hear” them…if that makes sense. The day after that, we went to see live theater. It was a series of 8 one-act plays. In back of us was a person I took a play writing class with and across the aisle were two Buffalo artists I know from Facebook but met at Donna Hoke’s Christmas Potluck. Funny how everyone is connected…
So, like I inferred, I’m looking forward, looking back, and looking at the carnage around me. (I didn’t mean the “two-faced, deceitful” definition of Janus.) It’s a contemplative mood so, I’m off to enjoy that. Thank you for stopping by and for the read!
There’s a coffeehouse in Hamburg called Comfort Zone and for every dollar you spend there, you get a point. You can use your points for discounts or save them up. After eating there for several years, I reached 1000 points – enough for a special outing and what an incredible experience it was! Whisked off to the Roycroft for a tour and then absolutely delightful conversation over dinner in the library at the Roycroft Inn. I snagged a ride in the convertible back to Comfort Zone for even more magic. I had pink chips, I played roulette, and I was up at the end of the night. It was a perfect, perfect night. Many thanks to Cindy, Zenia, Zach, Liz – just everyone who made it special.
I looked at my calendar and wowed myself with how many other great people I interacted with this month. I had a long phone conversation with an old friend to catch up recently. I was able to spend time with the awesome writers Nina Fosati, Gina Detwiler, and Jeff Schoeber. I met Nicole Hebdon and her husband at an author’s night she orchestrated at the Joylan Theater. The drone of the Board of Education and the Superintendent Search jargon was nearly cancelled out by the first mani/pedi I’ve had since…quite a while ago. I had my hair cut by eight inches and Husband did not notice.
I drag him out to see the colors at dusk sometimes –
much easier to do now that the upper greenhouse chaos has “settled.”
We went to a wedding. Congrats to my beautiful cousin and Ted.
Another “just is” is November, which will soon arrive, and I’ll be drizzled down a hole called Day One of National Novel Writing Month. I’m also eyeing Nancy Stohlman’s Flash Nano and wondering, “Can I do both?”
Obviously, I’m insane, but at the moment, a touch of happy, too.
Thank you for you. Thank you for reading. I hope you find magic in this scary time, too.
Last month I was keeping something a secret. It was that we were doing some bathroom alterations. Now that we’ve had company, here are some pictures.
He regrouted the tile floor. We got a replacement window – I mean mirror. The awful globe lights are gone, replaced with a cool looking arched LED. And things were rewired so the switches are different and we have another outlet. All the walls are orange, brown trim. Updated photos in the frames. Pretty fish dot the shower curtain and now, if I wanted to, I could take a bathroom selfie because the door no longer looks so unfinished.
The company consisted of Niece from Boston, Nephew from Portland, and for breakfast, their mom.
We met Nephew and Niece at a restaurant for dinner. Afterwards, home and a fire on the beach.
Old chair cushions topping 5 gallon buckets turned upside down for seats.
A nearly full moon. Talk. We didn’t get to the part about me feeling like I’m drowning, but the time was brief.
I know writing is hard, and rejections are like a badge, but strings of no’s hurt. I’m grateful for friends I can reach out to – I know you’re there. Probably. I’m in a cocoon. I can go out, but suffer from anxiety sometimes. A wave of, ”I need to wear my mask, rush in, rush out” or guilt from sitting at a table and wanting this to be okay again, but it’s changed and that’s weird. I’ve had coffee with Nina Fosati at two places now. Lovely times, both. I’m grateful for her help in everything. Without her, I don’t know if I would have made it through all this. ❤
Things were scattered during the bathroom update and now that the furniture is back to normal, there are things to file. And I’m miserable about the idea of writing – especially a new book. I’m glaring at you Camp NaNo, all starting tomorrow and since I still haven’t heard about “real” camp in August, I might spend time with you. Enter a deeper part of the cocoon. But there is so much I want to do outside, like take wood out of the wood shed so I have a way out when I take the wood in the back and transport it to the first row. Plus there is always mowing and trimming and weeding. Don’t mind me, I’m usually not quite so glum but there is a lot of tasks to complete and since I have written some good shit which hasn’t found a home and I’m still without an agent, why do I even bother?
Does every crisis of faith reduce down to “Why are we/Why am I here?”
Perhaps…
I do want to thank Janice Leandra and everyone at Janus Literary. I’m grateful they chose my micro, Panache for this issue and there is some other cool writing in here. And what a fitting place to end, with the idea of looking both ways.
For 21 years I’ve been married to a friend. What does that mean? Our marriage can legally buy liquor and cigarettes now? Can it vote, too? No? Why not? (I’d insert the picture of the Chipmunk of Doom looking askance here, but it didn’t export properly.)
Early this month, I was a maskless guest in someone else’s home and it was glorious to hug again! (Thank you Nina for inviting me!) Shortly after, we had the pleasure of visiting with Bob and Teresa. They were vaccinated, we were, too; it was a lovely time. Unnerving at first, though – being maskless in a house with humans. Who knew that would be an anxiety producer? I mostly remembered how to behave. I didn’t trust myself to throw a dinner party, so it was nibbles and drinks here – and interesting conversation.
A few years back I made my bones and joined a gang of philanthropists so now I get invited to cool things like tours of new buildings. This is the new clinic by the hospital on the hill. (I went inside and took pictures for a yet-to-be-written-story.)
B and I mostly finished a project this weekend. You know that feeling when you’re sure you have a can of paint and you don’t? I felt that and now I wonder if the partial gallon I’m so sure we have (though I can’t find it and have checked all the hidey-holes) will turn up the second I come home with a new gallon tinted that color. So, a bit of paint – less than a few tablespoon’s worth – applied to five small spots and it will be done. Of course sprucing up one thing makes the rest of the room look shabby…but I only have so much time because knock on wood, we’ll see family soon. They – of all people – would understand walking into a construction site/battle zone/fresh paint situation, but I’d prefer to greet them with some things under control even though I know surprises happen…like going out to get a sump pump on my birthday and B taking care of that fiasco which turned out to be my present. Anyways, since I’d like to do a big in-person reveal, I’m not posting pictures of it now. What I can show you is this round flower though I’ve forgotten its name:
And this sassy iris:
It has been a plant-centric month. Holding out as long as I could, I finally succumbed to the lure of a mown front yard. (I have to mow for the rest of the summer now, which displeases me.) Saturday, the new flowerbed was weeded and part of the raised bed was hoed. With the weather being unusually cold, the seedlings needed extra time and care. I also had to figure out which nursery I bought citronella plants from last year. I found it on my second try and learned how to propagate them. I mean, I don’t mind plants taking up my energy, but I am surprised they take so much.
There’s more work to be done in the garden and keeping the lawn up, but the basics feel scoped out so I can get back to concentrating on what I want to write and hone. The book I’d gone back to finish writing? Yeah, I hit the point where I was able to convince myself that I had the wrong MC and should stop before I went any further. I don’t know, essays are being plotted out in my notebooks. I’m reading. I’m watching movies. (Props to the Hamburg library – they’ve been doing me good recently. I’ve found amazing reads in their 7 day shelves) I’m soaking in the changing weather. If I could, I’d gift some of this stress-free time to Mary. The Zoetrope/Firefox has been resolved and I’m already diving back into Kim Chinquee’s “Hot Pants” room. The gracious Kathy Fish is hosting her Fast Flash Reunion room there next weekend. PitMad is on Thursday. There’s so much to look forward to in the coming month – and I don’t want to jinx it – but sometimes feeling obligated to write actually works to get it done…kind of like writing this blog once a month, you know?
Anyway, I hope you are feeling fine and know you are appreciated in so many different ways. You rock. You roll. You need to get out of here and frolic in freshly cut grass or some sand!
Thank you SO much for stopping by and for the read!
T. L. Sherwood 
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